My name is Charles Pavanno, for over a year and a half, I have controlled Troubadour Records. It was a hard time that saw many people leave the grand and successful record company that was started by Mr. Knight; it was not the best transition possible for the company at hand, yet it was the one that many people saw the value in. My business associates had capitalized, trying to gain a share in the record company, yet that would never happen. For me? It was a legitimate business that could further profit my Casinos. 

With the help of my team here at Troubadour Records, we had successfully increased the sale of records and boosted the reputation of our known talent. Even enlisting some of our talents, such as Niki n' Mick, a duo of brothers that traveled New York, Delaware, and Detroit. Until they had gotten employed with Troubadour Records, becoming one of the most successful talents signed under the record label.

The Casinos, well, they have seen a boom recently, because of such acts, like Tommy Torino, Niki n' Mick, Bobby Vai. Many others adding to the profitable increase in business that has been seen all across Chicago, Detroit, and Philadelphia.

Well, it was a matter of time before NOMA started fishing around, trying to connect talent to Mob Activites. Troubadour Records was clean as a whistle, under my management, I made sure to keep it clean of any documents associates, or other people of notoriety that would surely draw attention unto the Record Label.

Soon enough, Lawsuits had followed, carefully and peacefully, I had maneuvered and won the lawsuits. Not wanting a bloodbath or an innocent body that could possibly be strewn like a party decoration.

Now though, I am hearing of funds missing from the company coffers, I believe it's time I had a meeting with Richard Erikson...

Troubadour Records, Philadelphia...

"Charlie, Mr. Erikson is here to see you..."

The current Owner of Troubadour Records smiled up at his assistant, Maxine. He nodded, motioning that she could leave the room if she so wished. Although she did linger in the corner seat that had always been placed for her, should she want to take notes on their opposition, he was nothing if not a businessman and wanted to take every detail of his opponent in. 

"Erikson, what a pleasure to see you, I do believe we have much to discuss..."

His face blank, this man knew a lot and knew what was going on regarding the company coffers, but also AlexanderKnight himself, something told him that his oldest rival was not in the ground as they all thought...

Richard Erikson was a man that seemed to hold the weight of the world upon his shoulders and he had begun to look like it too. He lived forever under the threat of the truth. His hair, once blonde and luscious, had begun to discolour and thin out. His forehead bore now bore a permanent wrinkle. The man seemed to have aged a decade in the last year and a half. All for the lie he had once imagined innocent and profitable. While his bank account may have flourished, the constant struggle to maintain the falsehood discretely had taken a severe toll on the man's health. Often he spent his nights sipping aged whiskey by the fireplace of his newly purchased mansion, lamenting his decision to participate in the charade.

As Richard walked into Troubadour's Records, he noticed the changes, both superficial and innate. New employees, different decor, all to satiate the appeal of the new acting owner Charlie Pavanno. When Alexander had informed him of his choice of successor, Richard had counselled against it. The two were bitter business rivals with no love lost between them. Yet, Alexander had refused to budge and now, a year and a half after the fact, Richard marvelled at his client's foresight. Charlie had proven to be a shrewd businessman, eagerly defending against the lawsuits levied against them while deftly expanding their sphere of influence to other cities.

Yes, Charlie was shrewd, a little too shrewd perhaps. So when Alexander had ordered the discrete diverting of funds to Moscow with the extra set of instructions a few months ago, Richard had warned him that such blatant abuse of the finances would not slip Charlie's attentive gaze. Yet again, Alexander had refused to budge. Instead, a letter arrived, to be given directly to Charlie once the man discovered that things were amiss. A letter accompanied with the relevant context Alexander wished for Richard to reveal to Charlie.

It took longer than they anticipated, but now that he had been summoned, Richard was hopeful that the charade would at least in part end. He hoped that whatever was in the letter, it would allow Charlie to assume ownership of the facade and let the poor lawyer finally rest in solace.

"Mr Pavanno, as always the pleasure is all mine. How may I assist you today sir? He inquired politely.

Looking at Erikson with his classic smirk in place, knowing that he had time, he looked to Maxine, nodding to her discreetly. He did not like the look of this man, he seemed different than the will reading, he seemed lifeless, almost like he was ready to give up. He could tell that he wanted to get this over with, something that had Charlie wondering what was going on? This man was very different, he did not offer him a seat, instead, he kept his stare on him. The smirk was all but removed from his face, knowing that this man did not seem in the amusing mood. 

"Hmm, well, it seems that I am the one that is going to assist you in a matter that does connect with Troubadour, since the death of Alexander Knight, this industry, this label, it has seen a boom. Under my guidance, I have provided money, fame, and reputation all around the world. Now though, it seems that some of this money is missing, plus I hear news of NOMA Officials missing. Would you know anything of that, mate?"

He asked with a hint of curiosity, he had a sign in his head that was telling him who could have done it, yet he did not want to believe it. The man was dead, the man was not a killer, and the man was certainly not brutal. He did not have a harmful bone in his body, was something that Charlie was thinking currently, but something kept whispering to him. He had remembered after the reading that ArturoStrigliori had spoken with Erikson, what did they speak of?

"So, would you like to elaborate? It is bringing unwanted attention to this Label and I need to sort it out. Please, answer and you can leave. This is all I ask of you."

In spite of how long he had waited for this exact moment to arrive when it did come, Richard was unsure of how to respond. Unwilling to meet Charlie's piercing gaze he bowed his head and rubbed his temples. His hand came up to loosen his tie and open the button on his collar that seemed to be stifling his words. With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the flask of whiskey he seemingly carried everywhere nowadays. Uncorking the top, he hesitated only briefly before taking a large gulp and smacking his lips. 

He recorked the flask and tucked it away absentmindedly.  "I should have brought this to you sooner, for the sake of my own sanity if nothing else. But I was afraid you see, absolutely terrified." He whispered and shook his head, disappointed in himself. Finally turning to face Charlie he gulped nervously and inhaled deeply before beginning the tale.  "Four months ago, two men approached me. They wouldn't say much about themselves, but their Russian accents betrayed at least a part of their identity. They said they represented someone interested in NOMA's affairs. They offered help with our legal conflicts in exchange for authorizing a shipment of musical equipment to Troubadour's Records as well as a monetary sum."

He paused to look out the window before continuing. "At first though I accepted, I was not hopeful, but when I saw the results, I .. I was baffled. The past year had been hell for me and my firm you see. Despite your best efforts, we were fighting a losing battle and we knew it. Bankruptcy and prison sentences were only a matter of time. But once the Russians got involved, things started to change. The stifling legal pressure receded. We found the strangest of occurrences."

"Never in all my years of practice have I seen something like this. Witnesses retracted their testimony, evidence disappeared from FBN lockup, law firms terminated their association with NOMA, Judges who were staunchly biased against us began to give favourable rulings, the press remained conspicuously silent on the affair, hell even NOMA officials themselves changed their stance. Those who didn't, those who resisted, disappeared." His eyes displayed a surprise not often seen as he resumed. "Curious, I once inspected the shipment arriving into the company. As you have probably guessed there were no musical instruments. Vodka and weapons, as far as the eye could see. I wondered if he had escaped the frying pan only to enter the fire itself. So I searched. I searched for the man behind the scenes pulling the strings."

Pulling out his flask he took another gulp, worried Charlie would catch on to his lies. "I heard rumours and whispers of negotiations between NOMA and an aggrieved party breaking down. What followed with us caught in the middle of it was the final preparations of an upcoming hostile takeover. At the heart of it all, a Russian investor, someone who is not only supplying weapons and alcohol here in the city but someone who is about to become the owner of the largest Musical Association on the Eastern seaboard."

This was it, the final lie. If it landed without reproach, Richard would be free of the chains that bound him to these accursed people and their dastardly machinations. He reached into his coat and pulled out the letter Alexander had sent him. "This morning, a letter was hand delivered from Moscow for your eyes only. A letter from the investor, John 'Vorona' Smith. The return address is a Hotel owned through subsidiaries by the Petrovna Criminal syndicate. From what I could gather, the investor is an official advisor to the boss Mikhael Petrovna himself."

He placed the letter on to the desk and nodded before turning to leave. He had said what he needed to. Whatever came next was not his concern. He was finally free.

The letter, written in beautiful black ink read-

All is burned and scattered,
My innocence has been betrayed.
The price of all that mattered,
Was one that could not be paid.
 
I have buried all the dead,
Friend or foe they went in vain.
For the path where I lead,
Brought them nothing save pain.
 
My heart has grown cold,
And my soul has turned numb.
Now that I've tasted vengeance so bold,
Come see what I’ve become.

Answers you seek, hasten lest they forever hide,
Only if in the face of surprises you're unswayed.
Come to Moscow, witness with your own eye
The greatest trick the devil ever played.

He listened to the man, Charlie found himself picking out pieces, left and right. This man was lying to him for some reason, he had no idea why, yet he could tell that he wanted to be done, that he wanted to leave and close the door. He wanted to run for the hills, whatever he had gone through, it had rocked him to the core and caused him to become a shell of the former man that would not shy away from danger. Charlie leaned back in his chair, watching with his critical gaze, knowing that most men broke under it. 

Only Erikson in his travels seemed to have faced worse men than him, something that had him arching his left brow curiously. He continued watching as the man had removed his formal clothing to the point where he looked like a goon, Erikson was not done there to his surprise, he had continued to take a drink from a flask. He spoke of someone meeting him, this was something that already had Charlie suspicious, clearly this someone had something to gain from the fall of this case. 

He continued to listen, hearing all of this with his head thinking over everything that was being said to him. It seemed that Erikson was in such a position that he had to lie to him, but Charlie listened and as the man finished. It seemed that this organization or more specifically, its advisor wanted to meet with him in Moscow. Should he take Nikita or Itachi with him? He did not want to die a slow painful death, but he had the feeling, he should go alone. 

He looked down at the letter with his eyes narrowed, he looked back at Erikson, his face betraying no emotion. It was clear that he was masking what he truly felt on this matter. He knew what was going on, this was his old rival reaching out to him, the greatest trick that the devil ever played...He knew what he had to do. He was going, he needed to know what happened to the Knight of New York.

"Tell him, tell him I will be there and will be ready to finally hear out what he has to say. After that, you're free Erikson, good luck..."

2 Weeks Later
Pulkovo Airport, Leningrad

The customs official held a stamp in one hand and Charlie's passport in the other. He briefly glanced back at the man standing in front of him before nodding to the airport security personnel beside him. "Eto on. Chelovek, kotorogo Vorona khochet videt' v Moskve." He whispered and the guard nodded.

The uniformed man took the stamped passport and gestured to a side.  "If you'll kindly follow me Sir." He said and touched his baton, making it clear that he would not take no for an answer. Once he was certain the man would oblige, he guided him through the crowded airport filled with elite businessmen escaping Stalin's paranoid wrath lest they be framed and executed in one of his purges.

"Bad time for a lonely capitalist to enter the Soviet Union Mr Pavanno. I hope you know what you are doing." He warned in his broken English as he escorted Charlie to an isolated section of the parking lot where a police van awaited along with the usual security escorts that accompanied its usual prisoner run.

The security guard stopped infront of the policemen. He nodded to Charlie and asked the officer. "Ty znayesh' prikazy vorony?" The policeman eyed Charlie with barely restrained displeasure, chaffing as he was at the forced diversion from his regular duties. "Da, spetsial'naya dostavka pryamo v usad'bu Petrovnu." 

He whistled and his men got into their cars and on the motorcycles. Bidding his farewell to the guard he opened the back of the windowless prisoner van and gestured for Charlie to enter, making it clear that if he wanted to meet John Smith, this was the only way.

"Well....let's get on with this gents. Please do lead the way."

He was regretting not having his gun on him, he did not trust these guys and was starting to think that he was going to be wacked in the parking lot. Only he stepped into prisoner van, he looked from side to side, shrugging, knowing that it was not the best time to complain about the luxurious that this van had to offer, which were less than what he was used too. Yet he had to because he knew these men would possibly laugh or just look at him like he was weak, something that he made sure to get rid of. Only now, he was not in the states and did not have the American-Italian Mob to back him up, he was in the hands of the Russian Mob, something that did not bring him any comfort. 

"Dear Father..."

Charlie bowed his head, bringing his hands together, knowing that if he was going to die that he would want to pray before that happened. He did not know if he was being set up or meeting someone, perhaps it was one of Joe's enemies looking to settle a score because even now, he was doubting that he was going to meet this...John Smith, whatever fate had in store for him, he would meet it with a steely gaze, knowing that he would rather die a warrior than a craven.

"Let's what business we have John..."

Charlie whispered out once more, ready to face his death, or whatever awaited him now. His nerves had been beaten and now remained the Mob Boss, Don Pavanno. He was ready and would come face to face with this Smith, perhaps it wasn't as bad as it seemed, but on the inside, he knew that it would be something...

The convoy pulled in to the Petrovna estate just as the sun began to set. The sirens and the police escort had ensured a quick, uneventful journey. The van pulled up near the Petrovna mansion and stopped. The doors were opened and the first thing visible to anyone inside was Mikhael Petrovna's own butler waiting to greet the guest. The grey-haired, former royal attendant had seen his fare share of controversy in his decades of loyal service before and after the revolution. His discretion and his sense of etiquette were forever paramount, so Alexander had requested that he be present to put Charlie's mind at ease.

Flanking him stood two guards wrapped in tight furs, holding the leash of a Siberian husky in one hand and an unconcealed Mauser in the other.  "Mr Pavanno, I hope your journey was not too unpleasant. You must forgive us for not offering more luxurious transportation but with the political climate in the Union so.. sensitive, discretion was necessary, especially with regards to a foreign capitalist."  The butler said gracefully as he gestured for an attendant to offer the guest a choice of hot cocoa or whiskey if he was so inclined.

"Mister Petrovna offers his sincerest apologies for not receiving you himself sir, but I'm afraid he had to leave for Stalingrad to attend to some pressing business." Pausing to gesture to the path that led towards the front entrance he continued. "Nevertheless sir, please rest assured for I have been instructed to extend our unbridled hospitality to you. If you need anything at all, please do not hesitate to summon me."

As they walked, escorted by the armed guards and their huskies, the larger courtyard of the estate came into view. Tall concrete walls laced with barbed wire surrounded them. The exit behind them was through a reinforced gatehouse. Searchlights casually streaked across the snow-laden surface of the open courtyard, occasionally illuminating the guards on patrol clad in white camouflage furs and armed with scoped Mosin-Nagants.

Welcoming as the butler had been, when juxtaposed with the courtyard more suited to a fortress than a family estate, one couldn't help but wonder just what transpired inside. As they entered into the grand hall, the butler turned to Charlie once again and said. "I'll inform Mr Smith of your arrival presently sir. If you'd like, I'll escort you to the guest room where you can rest until dinner when you'll meet him. Or if you insist on meeting him immediately, I shall escort you to him but I must warn you, he isn't in the most presentable of states at the moment, distracted as he is with work."

The Butler had guided him to his room and Charlie could not help but stare in awe, it was comparable to his places back in the states. He could do nothing but continue to look at the place with awe shining in his grey orbs. He moved to the bed and sat down, laying back with hands tucked behind his head with a small smile twitching at his lips. He had been driven to where he was to meet this man and he was safe, for now. He knew that whoever this man was, he had money and considering who he worked with, Charlie had no doubt that he would ever be short of it. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips and setting it alight. He grinned looking off to the side and finding himself looking at the landscape that was just outside the window, in some ways, Russia was a beautiful country. If one could get over the other problems that seeped its way in. Charlie stood up with a sigh, walking over to a desk that was placed in the room and looked around. He wanted to make sure that the business he had here would be taking care of, in a professional manner. 

"Let's see what dirty secrets you have Johnny boy, or if you have some at all. You hid all this time and left me to deal with the fallout, you hid like a craven...heh, I guessed that this was the fall of the Knight and the beginning of whatever you are now."

Charlie growled out as he laid his hands out on the table, his eyes burning into the wood as if he himself was trying to set it on fire and yet he knew, it was not possible. He had been played with and made a pawn in the game that was this bastard of a man, although, he remembered, a long time ago when both of them were Kings, where both ruled the game. Only Charlie was not a King on the board, he was simply a pawn, someone to be sacrificed for this man. Would he allow it? No, would he hear it out? Well, he had no choice but to listen.

"After all these years, you are alive and now, I will witness the devil himself explain his plan..."

The Butler walked in and said politely. "Mr Pavanno Sir, Mr Smith has informed me that he will be unable to entertain you for dinner tonight. It seems his attention is demanded elsewhere. However, he intends to converse with you soon after his business is concluded and he has to depart for the night. As such he requests your presence, so if you will be kind enough to follow me please?"

The butler escorted the guest to the basement that had once housed a rather large wine cellar. Outside the cellar stood two men with Mausers in hand, one of whom shooed the butler away and proceeded to frisk Charlie for any concealed weapons. Finding none, he opened the reinforced steel door to the cellar and shoved Charlie inside before shutting the door behind him.

The cellar was dimly lit except for a desk near the rear where a man sat, quietly scribbling away on documents with an old-fashioned quill. A lamp cast an unearthly glow on his face, a face with one eye discoloured and flanked by scars, a face smeared with fresh blood. Near his feet by the desk lay a balding man. A sharp Damascus steel cane sword stood erect, half buried in the man's gut. The man's pained pleas for clemency echoed through the room, but the man writing paid him no attention.

"I'll do you the courtesy of assuming that you have been smart enough to surmise my identity Mr Pavano, just as I assume you will do me the courtesy of forgiving the manner in which I smuggle you here. After all, you once dragged me similarly to a cellar much the same." He said as he continued to write.

The man by his feet elicited a loud groan and Alexander snarled at him viciously.  "Tikhiy cherv'! YA pytayus' pogovorit' zdes'."  The man quivered in fear, coughed and grew silent. "Erikson tells me you've been asking questions." Alexander sighed, put down his quill and turned his face towards Charlie as he added.  "So tell me what I can do for you old friend?"

"I must say this is quite charming..."

Charlie quipped with a sarcastic bite in his tone, his eyes narrowing on Alexander, the man that had been his rival and in so many ways, an enemy. Now? He was not sure that this was the same man, this was someone else, someone who wore the face of the Knight but no longer held the charm, manner, and prowess. This was simply a lifeless monster who sat before him, Charlie did not bow his head or cower from the man. He kept his glare trained on the man and him only. 

He looked off to the side and noticed the bleeding man who was obviously pleading for help, something that Charlie could not offer, this was not his place and he had no power. He was at the mercy of this monster, but he would listen, walking forward with slow steps, cautious of the man that bore some resemblance to the Troubadour. Charlie would refuse to call the two the same, while he may have disliked Alexander Knight, he would not even wish this fate on his 'loving' father. 

He heard Alexander speak of the moment that he had no control over the Cordelia Siblings, although, he did remember Maria informing him of how her brother was with Alex, even bringing him to one of their meeting rooms. He doubted that this place was used for meetings, according to the body that laid on the floor opposite him, it was most likely used for something of an entirely different nature, something that obviously appealed to this new Knight. 

"Well, if I am correct Alex, you were granted with many luxuries during the meeting with Henrik, but that is neither here nor there. I did not treat you as if you were the enemy, but I granted you something all the same. I gave you the respect that you deserve and I did not treat you any less than your position called for, so tell me, friend, what happened to you? What happened to the Troubadour? What happened to the infamous knight of New York?"

He asked with a menacing step forward with each question, his eyes held fire and nothing less. He was not going to fear this lesser man in front of him, no matter what happened to this man, he needed to know what happened two years ago, he needed to know why his rival had faked his own death and why reach out to him now? He hoped to find out.

Alexander dipped his quill in the pot of ink and resumed scribbling away on the parchment as Charlie approached. "You will do well to remember the luxuries I have offered you, Sir. Safe passage through a troubled land, whiskey and cocoa to warm you against the cold, a comfortable bed to sleep in, a scrumptious meal to follow and a butler at your beck and call. This is a hard country Mr Pavanno, a country that has seen too much blood to care for social niceties and complicated ploys to garner prestige. We don't amuse ourselves with pointless pissing contests with others here."

He put the quill down and nodded to Charlie. "Our guests end up being treated either like yourself" Pausing to bring his hand to his side and clasp the hilt of the cane sword, he pulled it out and blood sprayed from the man's abdomen, before continuing unfazed by the man's guttural scream. "Or this man right here."

He used a cloth to wipe away the blood from the steel lest it dull the blood and replaced the ebony sheathe as he whispered to the man. "Yesli vy ne khotite umeret' ot poteri krovi, ya predlagayu vam vspomnit' vse, chto vy mozhete." The man continued to whimper by his feet as he stood up. Using the cane to support himself, he walked out from behind the desk. 

He opened up a metallic case placed on the desk an pulled out a cigarette. Placing it tenderly on his lips he lit a match and ignited the end. Inhaling a long deep drag, he tasted the sweet scent of fresh tobacco and felt the familiar burn in the back of his throat before letting the smoke slowly cascade out of his nostrils.  "But I suppose you always were a little too self-righteous. Obsessed with a desire to dominate your rivals for some minimal sense of victory at the cost of fruitful business possibilities."

Bringing the cigarette out of his mouth, he flicked the butt with his thumb and watched the ash fall to the floor below. Scratching his scar he shrugged and continued. "Still your obsession is exactly why I left the daily functioning of Troubadour's records to you for I knew no other man would be as invested in it as you. No other man would be possessed by a singular desire to prove to the world that you could do better than the dastardly Troubadour. It offered the perfect distraction, allowing me to destroy NOMA from the inside. Of course, if it hadn't, I would have had someone to pin the blame on upon my return."

Taking a quick puff, he tilted his head back and cast the smoke out above him. "What happened to the Troubadour you ask?" With a chuckle, he added. "Don't you read the papers, Sir? Too tender and naive for this cruel world, he found his way to an early grave."

"Oh why thank you! I forgot that I was given a mere butler, whiskey, cocoa, and a bed. Like that is going to make anything better? What next? Are you going to give me some whores to warm, said bed? Heh, I've heard of the rumors that surround this place and I know when to keep myself occupied in such places. Hmm, weren't you someone like that though? Weren't you someone who lusted for prestige, wealth, honor, and reputation? Don't talk of pissing contests Alexander, remember? You were the one who marched on my door! You were the one who came after me all those years ago, you were the one who wanted a war of words with me! Let's not bring up the past, shall we? Trust me, because you will lose!"

Charlie inhaled through his nostrils, craning his neck to the side as a soft audible crack was heard. His eyes still holding fury towards the man now known as John Smith, yet he did not refer to himself as such anymore. He called that persona its name but never mentioning it as if he were that person mere years ago. Was this what his rival was reduced too? A simple broken man who resorted to violence? Charlie in his days of being a mere made guy for Race Street never thought that Alexander would fall like this, perhaps he had too high expectations of a man with his caliber, one that had made him grip onto his sword and command men to go forth and battle the former Knight of Purgatory.

"I don't really care for the prop there, we both know that this is a tactic Alex, deny the name all you want, because you believe I have not suffered like you. My Obsessions drive away the demons, if you believe that I am simple, that I am what you called me, then you never really paid attention, Alexander. I see it, I can see your eyes, you're hurt. Only, you decided to fall with it and then became, this. It's a shame really, I never believed that such a man could become this way. Perhaps, I had too high expectations, perhaps our battles never really set a fire under you."

Charlie walked past Alexander but stopping just as he passed his shoulder, making sure to gaze down at the body of the man with soft eyes before they became ice cold. He removed his gaze, towards the ornate desk that Alex had once sat behind, he found it to fit this new man, yet, if he was not mistaken, he could possibly see a remnant of the Troubadour in the desk, or maybe, his mind was playing tricks on him? Making him see things that were not truly there at all. 

"Self-Righteous? Heh, that is what you've reduced me too? I find that totally incorrect, if anything, It is you who is Self-Righteous. It was you who walked as if he owned the world, I never did that, I kept my low-profile and did my job, unlike you, I never lusted for fame and attention. Only now, with this new outlook on life, you seem to believe that you are better than me? Oh Alexander, how far you've fallen, do you really wish to say anything else? Perhaps I can show you that it's always been you."

Charlie whispered in a harsh breath towards his rival once more, turning around so that they were now standing side by side, placing a hand on his shoulder with an ever-tightening grip, making sure that he made his intentions clear as the motherfucking ocean.

"Are you really doing this? Are you admitting that I was a piece on the board for you? Cause then we have problems, you see, with your death, things have changed in Troubadour Records and I have turned that record label into a legitimate enterprise. Should you return, that could problems and I know, I don't have the power here Alex, but I do in the states and I am sure you heard, Joe Adonis is no longer with us. I took the reins and rule in his stead. So perhaps, would you like to word that differently?"

Charlie watched as Alexander took a drag of the smoke that he lit, he shook his head and shrugged, wanting to hear what he had to say regarding the 'death' of the Troubadour.

"Heh, spoken like a truly broken man, I wonder, how many lies have you told yourself?"

Charlie whispered out softly, this time, not angry or even sad, just disappointed in seeing the man that he saw as a superior and heck, even a mentor this way. 

"You should learn to appreciate the simple comforts in life Sir, they have a tendency of disappearing like dust in the wind." He whispered.  "Just as you should learn to restrain your temper. It has always been your fatal flaw, made you predictable."  Brushing his hair out of his discoloured eye he continued. "Why must everything be a competition to you? Why do you feel the need to justify yourself? Why the constant struggle to prove yourself to the world?"

With a sigh, he added.  "I warned Joe that you were a risky but a necessary bet when I recommended you. Of course, my recommendation did little but reaffirm his own beliefs for he would have chosen you regardless. I wonder if this comes as a surprise to you even now. Dr Santoro herself pronounced a living man dead. Did you really think the two of them did not know? I was to be the godfather of their child if the war hadn't broken out my dear friend. We had no secrets between us."

Thumbing the hilt of his cane uneasily he squared up with Charlie and said in a stoic manner.  "So you see Sir, I knew you had taken the reins and I used you regardless. You played your part very well and you profited immensely from it, both financially and in the public eye. Yes, you were a pawn in a larger, bolder strategy, but you came out richer for it. So I suggest you grow up and stop crying over a wounded ego. While you're at it, cease with the empty threats. We both know you are not in a position to make any while you stand here."

Caressing the sheath he got ready to duel the man if the need arose as he continued.  "Unless you want to brawl in a strange land with a man who has nothing to live for, losing your life for some brief joy of an inconsequential victory, I suggest we talk business like the civilized men we are."

Standing toe to toe with Charlie, he waited for the sweet release of death hoping he had successfully goaded the man into impulsive action. Yet the release never came. Shaking his head in disappointment, he turned around and began speaking again. "Commendable as your efforts at the helm of Troubadour's records have been, I'm sure you would have realized that in the past few months, NOMA had begun to collapse in on itself. Actions occurred that my other guest and others like him staunchly resisted, yet were not successful in preventing. Without going into too much detail, a unique opportunity has presented itself which allows Troubadour's Records to legitimately acquire NOMA itself making it the largest organization on the East coast."

Casually scrounging through the documents on the desk, he pulled one out and placed it on top. "Though I am the majority shareholder, I still need your signature as the acting CEO to make it official. I'd rather not go through the whole process of issuing a vote of no-confidence and relieving you of your duties. The delays would cost me too much. Rest assured, I have no desire to return to the corporate lifestyle. If you so choose, you may continue as the CEO as we use NOMA as a jumping board to expand further across the country."

"Ofcourse it goes without saying that you will be using your influence with the press to facilitate my successful return to the public sphere in due time. Marooned on an island, kidnapped by a drug cartel, captured by African slave traders, take your pick of a cover story. So the question, and this is the only question that matters, is will you let your obsessions hold you down or are you to put the personal shit to a side and make a lot of money?" He asked and looked on eagerly.

"You're smart Alexander, You've always been smart. You've always noticed and seen me for what I am, huh? Seen me trying to become the best and proclaim myself as the greatest? Maybe you've always seen it, maybe, you were just too perceptive for me to ever notice."

Charlie spoke in a soft whisper, his mask of friendship, sorrow, regret, and loss of his rival had been gone. All that remained was the blank look of a child, one that had seen too much pain in his lifetime to truly care anymore. He knew it, deep inside himself, he knew it was true. He tried to lie and appear behind the mask that was his welcoming facade of friendship and family, yet he always had a plan for something, he was always ready for something. 

"My temper inherited from my dearest Father, perhaps that is what made me predictable, perhaps I was always cursed to be predictable, perhaps I was never meant to be this way. It's who we are meant to be, mirror images of our dearly beloved parents. If you're asking those questions, Alexander, I'm afraid that the boy who those are directed too, well he died a long time ago, just like you did. Only, he died when he dawned the suit and became a member of this society. So maybe, I am but a shell of him, maybe I laugh, smile, and become different is because it is the only way to survive, sir."

He once again spoke in a deathly whisper, looking down and refusing to meet the eyes of his once rival, was this the truth of him? Maybe, maybe not. Yet he remembered the words that had once been spoken to him, ones that encouraged to forge a new path for himself. Yet with this, man, in front of him, he could do nothing but flinch at the onslaught of memories that came down unto him like a weight. All of it, getting to him, piece by piece. 

"Heh, why am I surprised? Joe and Ilaria leave with Franky, it's something I wondered, was I ever worth it? And the truth is, no. So perhaps Alex, you're right. I am a risky Son of a bitch, but I've made calculated bets, ones that have gotten me further than what my previous ones had. You are completely correct, maybe I don't know when to stop and maybe the time is now, maybe I should bow at your feet and allow you to take that sword, swing it down and take my head, huh?"

He stated in a soft humorless chuckle, he stepped forward, hearing out the rest of Alexander and his truthful statement regarding the fact that he was nothing more than a pawn, something that caused him to release another chuckle, this one much more bitter than before. He sighed, closing his eyes and continuing to hear this man out, allowing the deep cuts of this man and his verbal sword, he was sure that he would be in two, but he stood there and allowed the words to hit without putting up a shield, until he looked up with a blank smile. 

"I'd rather make Money, do tell me though, what do you plan to do with this new empire? What is next for you and Troubadour Records?"

Alexander looked at the broken man in front of him. Conflicted he stood, troubled by his past as Alexander himself had once stood. "A remember a boy like that. A young lad of 18 or 19. Having grown up in an orphanage, he had seen little kindness in the world. What brief happiness he found in the world was through his love for music. Once he came of age, he travelled to LA with dreams in his eyes and holes in his pockets. He spent many nights busking in streets and sleeping in park benches on an empty belly. Never losing his resolve, however, the young lad found gainful employment in a bar. He served drinks, counselled forlorn strangers and sang to his heart's content. Hell, he even fell in love."

With a sigh, he continued. "Fate though has a cruel sense of humour for when he was finally happy, the rug was pulled out from under him. His love murdered, his employer butcher and his city annihilated. Scared and distraught he stood on a beach covered in his own sick and blood lamenting his loss, struggling to find any purpose in life. Somehow he found the will to wear a facade and keep on keeping on. As time progressed, he found himself on the same crossroad. Struggling to find the will to live even as his material wealth grew exponentially with his fame."

Turning to Charlie he added. "By the time he came to you at Strigliori's bistro he had suffered far far too much, wandered forlorn in a solitary world for far far too long. His facades grew more intricate and more desperate. He had died a thousand deaths and one, much like yourself my friend. But he never lost hope and that is perhaps what you need to do. Find a reason to live Sir, a reason to thrive, and until you do, carve a permanent smile on your face for this world is too cruel to let a man visibly weak find his own way."

Clasping the back of Charlie's neck with his palm he stared deep into the man's eye and scowled. "Do not go gentle into the good night sir. Rage! Rage against the dying of the light. With any luck, you will persevere. You will find your way out of the darkness and you will not succumb to it. Do not be your own greatest enemy. Rise! Rise from the ashes like the phoenix you were always meant to be."

Slowly moving away he tidied up his clothes and added. "There will be time enough to talk about what is to come upon my return stateside but for now I must head out for business calls. I'll leave the document with you along with instructions with the butler to offer the famed Petrovna hospitality. You may choose to stay here for a few days and familiarize yourself with the Russians if you so, please. Though if you do so, I must advise you that you change your perspective. These are hard people Sir, brutalized by wars and revolutions. Yet they somehow find a way to live on. Perhaps you could learn something from them."

A bittersweet smile appeared on his face as he pulled away. "Escape the fate the boy couldn't for unlike him there is still time for you yet."  With that Vorona limped away out of the cellar and into the darkness he now embraced.